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Novelo Rectangle

&nbsp;	Only she remembers what happened on her wedding day. Maerelle stood facing the door to the little woodland chapel, her back to her gathered friends and family. The air seems to shimmer as she looked down at her bouquet, spotting one black petal nestled in the delicate flowers. She softly plucked it free and threw it away surreptitiously with a gentle flick of her fingers. She sighed deeply, and pushed down any resentment she felt at having to get married at all. 	She looked at the carved wooden beams of the door frame, the elven knotwork and delicate tracery of the carving a masterclass in elven woodworking and grace. The beams were taken from the Shimmerleaf Elm common in the province of Silmar to the south, and rumour said the wooden arch that framed the door had taken the elven artisans seventeen years to carve. It would not have surprised her if it was true, this was the secret Royal Chapel after all, the place nobility had been married for several thousand years. 	Maerelle smiled, turned, and began the walk down the aisle, her delicate elven features looking radiant as her black hair settled almost too perfectly on her bare shoulders. Her silk and satin dress had a modest sweetheart neckline and was pinched at the waist in a beautifully embroidered bodice before flowing into a long and graceful skirt, subtly accentuated with moonstone pearls. She knew she was defying convention by walking the aisle on her own, especially when this wedding was of such importance but she couldn't bring herself to replace her father with another. 	Maerelle's father had been one of the last defenders of the elven King at the Battle of the Summer Bridge, and he had fallen in battle defending the king to his last breath, all to no avail. The king had been killed too, the banners of his House taken and defiled by the humans. They'd even taken the kings body and displayed it over Summer Bridge, his decaying corpse facing his own kingdom as a warning to the elves. Her fathers body had never been recovered and they'd buried an empty coffin. She missed him terribly. 	That's was the purpose of this marriage, to forge an alliance between the elven provinces of Neriel and Seyora. The two provinces joined in a military pact would be able to secure their respective borders far more effectively than if they'd acted alone and maybe the aggression of the humans might be held in check. 	As she gracefully stepped down the aisle she saw her friend Tarabella looking over her shoulder and smiling at her. The bride smiled back before watching in morbid fascination as a fat maggot wriggled and crawled up Tarabella's bare arm, although the girl didn't seem to appear to notice. Alarm fluttered in the Maerelle's heart but another few steps and she had passed Tarabella and continued up the aisle, a strange feeling of gut-deep anxiety settled on her as she made her way closer to the front. 	She caught the eye of the warden of her Estate and he gave an almost imperceptible nod and smiled. She saw the Duke of Darrendor, The Baroness of Silmar, the Count of Helleriel and other nobility in the gathering, all eyes on her. Discreet members of the elite Midnight Guard stood watch over the gathered nobility. She blushed gently at the realisation she was the centre of so much attention. 	Suddenly several fat, blue flies buzzed lazily through the air towards her, settling on her hand. She looked down and saw several more black petals had appeared in her bouquet and she blinked in dismay as the flies crawled across her fingers but strangely she didn't seem to feel it. She shook the bouquet to disturb them and half a dozen petals fluttered to the floor, sending the flies spiraling away. A feeling of fleeting dread made her shiver, like an icicle sliding down her spine. She looked up and the flies were gone. 	As Maerelle looked up she saw the Groom for the first time as he waited for her. He was quite handsome but not extremely so, and he had the long silken silver hair common to the Seyorans. His name was Demmarin, second son of the King of Seyora. He had lost his brother at the Battle of Summer Bridge and it had been decided that the scions of the two great houses who had lost family at the battle should be betrothed. Maerelle pondered whether he'd had any say in the matter of their marriage, although she doubted it. He smiled at her, extended his hand and she reached out to take it. He seemed almost alarmingly cold to the touch, but she didn't want to cause a stir and stood holding his hand as she reached the dais and they stepped up onto it together. He leaned down, his face close to hers. 	“You look magnificent” he whispered. She smiled at him, noticing her breath misting in the air. 	“My Lord, are you cold?” She whispered back. 	“No my Lady, in fact quite the opposite.” He smiled again before straightening up to look to the Elderseer presiding over the ceremony. 	Elderseer Harril was ancient even by elven standards. He is said to have been born in the Year of Silver Sky, when the elves were a unified Kingdom long before the humans arrived with their fire and sword. He held onto an old gnarled oaken staff, the wood hardened and polished by many years of use. His ceremonial robes were of midnight blue silk, embroidered with the elven runes for longevity, prosperity, fertility and grace. 	She heard a metallic sound and turning her head she watched one of the Midnight Guards draw his sword for no reason and she frowned, blinked and looked away. When she looked back he was standing at rest with his sword scabbarded. 	She looked up at the Elderseer Harril and smiled. He was flanked by the ambassadors of Neriel and Seyora, resplendent in their ceremonial robes. Both men stood either side of the Elderseer like an honour guard, and they displayed the sickly-sweet fake smile only true politicians could manage. Maerelle knew they hated each other with a passion, and would be plotting how to turn this wedding to their own advantage but for now they were polite and well mannered. The Elderseer smiled and nodded at the bride and groom before thumping his gnarled staff on the floor twice. 	“I am called by my office, and by ancient the rites of this ceremony to ask one final time - with those gathered here as solemn witnesses to your words. Do you wish to proceed?” he intoned clearly and seriously. 	“I do” Demmarin answered, almost too quickly as he turned and looked at her. As Maerelle looked to the Elderseer her heart skipped in her chest, fluttering with anxiety. She composed herself, smiled and nodded. 	“I do” she said. 	There was a sudden release of the tension in the air as the moment passed, the ambassadors smiled and relaxed a little, the stiffness easing from the shoulders of the Ambassador to Seyora as a woman in the crowd let out a nervous giggle. Harril waited as the gentle hubbub died down, his wrinkled face settling into a kind smile before he began. He raised his arms wide and started to speak the ancient elven rites of joining. 	Maerelle's mind began to wander as the Elderseer intoned the opening lines. She looked down as she held Dammarin's hand, his fingers strangely stiff and very cold, his skin waxy and pallid. The queasy feeling of unease bubbled back up in her chest and she snapped her gaze up at the Elderseer. For some reason there was now a broad patch of mildew on his collar, the white mottling scattered down the lapel of his fine, midnight blue robes. She looked closely at the Elderseer and one of his eyes seemed very bloodshot as though a vessel had burst in his eye and it sat oddly in his skull. She felt very cold, and her pulse began to sing in her ears. 	She watched in horror as the ambassador to Neriel's jaw suddenly dropped, his mouth hanging open. A string of drool trickled down his chin before stretching to drip onto his chest. He stood staring into nothingness as spittle trickled down his garments. She raised her bouquet to gesture at him. 	“Sir, are you well?” He snapped his jaw shut and smiled at her as though nothing happened. 	“Of course child, I'm overjoyed to be here. There's no need for worry. Are you ok?” He bowed and motioned for the priest to continue, concern in his eyes. 	“Did you see that?” She said in disbelief, turning to the Demmarin. 	“What?” 	“He was just... standing, open mouthed and drooling!”, she gestured again with her bouquet at the ambassador, scattering blackened, dead petals as she did so. 	Demmarin looked embarrassed and leant down closer to her. The crowd begin to murmur and mutter, gossiping as the interruption. Maerelle looks over her shoulder, stealing glances at the crowd and her face burned with shame as she realised the scandal she had caused. 	“Are you ok?” Demmarin said, genuine concern in his voice. 	She looked around, panic setting in as she felt her mind unravelling. Her gaze snapped from face to face, barely blinking as she searched for proof she wasn't going moon-mad. She looked to her mother in the front row who smiled, tilted her head and gave her a look as if to say 'please, don't make a scene!' She looked at the Elderseer, his kind smile still on his face and his eyes were clear and untroubled as he waited patiently. The ambassador to Neriel appeared normal and calm. No spittle stained his clothes, no drool dripped from his chin. Maerelle took a moment to steady herself. 	“Yes, yes I'm fine.” She muttered, breathing deeply to still her heart. 	“Are you sure you're ok my dear? May I continue?” The Elderseer asked gently. She looked at the gathered crowd. 	“I'm fine, the importance of the day has been weighing heavy on me. I apologise for my outburst, please continue.” 	Harril nodded before beginning his monologue. He addressed the gathering and spoke of the two noble houses being joined in love and companionship for the good of all, pointedly ignoring the fact it was a marriage arranged for a political alliance. He spoke for many minutes on the upbringing of Maerelle and Demmarin, and how well suited they were as a couple. Maerelle looked around as she still felt sick with unease. She glanced at her mother again and saw nothing untoward as the Elderseer finished his speech. He turned and nodded to the Ambassadors who were both becoming visibly more relaxed as the ceremony reached its conclusion. The voice of Harril the Elderseer pulled her out of her daze. 	“With the authority of the Royal Seal, and the consent of those to be married, it is my happy duty to pronounce Maerelle of house Neriel and Dammarin of house Seyora joined in marriage, for now and forever. You may kiss your bride!” 	Maerelle turned to look at Dammarin as he approached her smiling, his head angled for a kiss. He suddenly coughed, his breath misting in the air before him as he crashed to one knee. He coughed again, wheezing as he reached up and clawed at the collar of his tunic, the buttons popping to the floor as he clawed at his throat. 	She turned in panic, frozen to the spot as she looked to her mother. Maerelle watched in terror as her mother gasped for air, her tongue hanging out of her mouth, purple and distended as she suffocated. She watched the Count of Helleriel stand and push people out of the way, coughing as he tried to leave the pew before slumping over the back of the wooden bench, a strange gurgling breath bubbling out of his mouth. Everyone in the room clawed silently at their throat, the rattling, whispering rasp of dozens of people suffocating filling the room. She spun in panic to see the ambassador's mouth hang open again, spittle mixed with blood dripping and dribbling out of his mouth to stain his clothing. His breath gurgled in his throat as he collapsed forwards, knocking the Elderseer to the floor. The Elderseer writhed as he rasped his last breath, his face contorted and one of his eyes bloodshot and distended. 	Maerelle turned in horror and watched as one of the Midnight Guards draw his sword and stumbled, unable to fight an enemy he could not see. Slowly, the gathered people succumbed and died, slumped awkwardly in their seats. She turned to run down the aisle but stopped abruptly as the chapel door clicked open delicately. She watched in despair as a human mage entered, one of his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his plain black robe. He closed the door carefully behind him and walked a few more paces towards her down the aisle before he stopped and performed a mocking bow, and as he reached into his pocket and pulled out an orange studded with cloves he looked at Maerelle with a sympathetic eye. 	“The smell of the dead can be quite appalling don't you think?” he said, motioning to the congregation of dead elven nobility. “It can be quite ...cloying. It settles in the throat.” He stepped a little closer as she let out a quiet sob. 	“Lady Maerelle, last of the house of Neriel, I must tell you it brings me no pleasure to have cast this curse on such an auspicious occasion but regrettably this alliance cannot go ahead. It took me some time to craft a hex that only targeted elven blood so I am quite gratified it has been so successful although regrettably there have been some... casualties here that might have become allies given time.” She gawped at him, her hands hanging loosely by her sides as the last of the dead petals fell from the emaciated stalks of her bouquet. 	“For the hex to work it had to be anchored to a person and of course My Lady the bride is the most important part of this ceremony. Apart from the military alliance we could not countenance you bearing children and sealing the two provinces as one kingdom within a generation.” 	“Why?” She whispered, feeling her throat closing as she spoke, a subtle luminescence growing beneath her skin. The mage frowned, contempt briefly flashing across his face. 	“You really do not know why? “ he asked, “Naive child. Thousands of human lives have been lost to starvation caused by the elven blockade. Families dying of hunger as the blighted elven magic ravages our crops. You raid our fields and poison our water, throwing the dead into the waterways in such numbers we cannot stop the putrefaction. House Neriel has led raids that specifically target the vulnerable, attacking the camps made up of women and children and slaughtering all inside, elves and men alike.” He scowled with revulsion. “You came to kill your own injured warriors who we cared for rather than display some.... compassion. Elves are cruel and heartless beyond understanding.” He scowled again “You use our captives as slaves, working them to a miserable death building your fortresses and war machines and then feed their lifeless bodies into the rituals that drive your cursed magic. ” She could feel herself wheezing as he stepped closer still. 	“And when house Seyora crucified the Holy Sisters as they tended the dying men after the Battle of Summer Bridge in retaliation for the death of your King, it became clear that elves could not be reasoned with and that their sense of superiority led to a cruelty we could not match.” 	He stopped and whispered, almost to himself. “Do you know what it's like to have to cut down someone you loved, a kind and gentle soul who never deserved to see such mindless hate?” He spoke with the ache of distilled pain breaking his voice. “My wife found a way to be kind to the injured and dying elves, even as they hurled abuse at her. She was tortured and crucified alongside the others nonetheless.” He paused for a long moment, gathering himself. He sniffed and sighed. “The war must end and the power of elves must be stunted - that had become clear - and so the destruction of the two houses became an all consuming obsession for me. It was your own arrogance that led you to believe you were safe here in your hidden little shrine, so confident no one would dare such an audacious thing.” He appeared to pause before speaking delicately and softly as Marelle began to cough, grey smoke clouding the edge of her vision. 	“You may not believe me when I say this, but I really am sorry there was no other way. Many women would be overjoyed to look as beautiful as you do now for all of eternity, to repeat the day over and over again. You really do look quite breathtaking My Lady." He turned and walked back down the aisle, holding the orange to his nose as he approached the door and pulled it open. He turned once more to look at her spectral figure standing in the aisle before stepping through and clicking the door shut. Maerelle stumbled forwards, she attempted to call out but her voice was a distant echo. She trudged a few more steps, looking down in puzzled panic as her legs appeared translucent and distant, detached from herself somehow. She held up her hand and stared at it, it was vaguely transparent and a strange blue smoke whispered from her fingers. She walked a few more paces, her breath dying in her throat. Her body faded into apparition as she stumbled forwards and stood facing the door to the little woodland chapel, her back to her gathered friends and family. The air seems to shimmer as she looked down at her bouquet, spotting one black petal nestled in the delicate flowers. She softly plucked it free and threw it away surreptitiously with a gentle flick of her fingers. She sighed deeply, and pushed down any resentment she felt at having to get married at all.

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The Alliance

MartinS

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The Ceremony

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Martin Snape

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